The Painted Face
by Sam.J.Eller
Summary: Dean and Sam struggle to protect each other when a threat arises in the unexpected form of a clown. Teenchesters. Hurt/Scared/Sam and Protective/Big Brother/Dean.
1. Chapter 1

Note: Because sleep is overrated and I was itching to do some writing! Please review/comment, I'd really appreciate it!

This is for you **weirdiam**. I'm not sure if it's what you had in mind, but I hope you like it! :)

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><p>I was gone for 5 minutes.<p>

Five fucking minutes.

I went to pay the manager, so Sam and I could stay in the closet of a room for another week.

I stopped by the vending machine to grab two sodas.

I couldn't have been gone more than five minutes.

But I guess that's all it takes for everything to go straight to hell.

I had been heading back to the room when a police car pulled into the motel parking lot, which made me instantly nervous.

I was sixteen, so even if they found out I was alone, I'd probably be fine. Sam on the other hand, he was only twelve, if somehow the cops had found out he was staying here without a parent…well Sam and I would have to make a run for it, because there is no way in hell I'm letting anybody take him from me.

I picked up my pace, rushing back to my little brother.

I got to our room and found the door partially open. I knew I hadn't left it that way, it was the middle of February and far too cold out to be leaving doors open, especially since the heater in our room was a piece of shit.

"Sammy?" I called out, carefully pulling the handgun from the back of my pants as I nudged the door further open with my shoulder.

"Drop the gun."

I looked to the left, and pointed my weapon in the direction from which I heard the deep husky voice, and I froze.

There, standing over by the far bed was Sam, with the muzzle of a gun pressed against his temple and a thick meaty arm wrapped around his neck.

And if the entire situation was disturbing enough, the bastard threatening my baby brother's life, was dressed like a clown.

A fucking clown.

His face was painted, he had a big red wig, he was sporting a bright polka-dot shirt, and huge red pants. All that was missing was a big red nose and a pair of giant clown shoes; his nose was simply painted white and he had a pair of hiking boots on his feet.

My baby brother has hated clowns for as long as I remember, hell the kid still flinches when the McDonald's mascot pops up on T.V.

I tried to ignore the painted face staring at me, and directed my gaze to Sam.

The young boy was shaking like a leaf, his hazel eyes staring up at me, shining in fear.

"You okay Sammy?" I asked, my gun held steady on the threat, but my attention trained on my little brother.

Sam went to give me a nod, but the arm around his neck tightened, restricting his movement.

"I'm fine." He rasped, the shakiness of his voice telling me an entirely different story.

"I said drop the gun boy."

I kept a steady gaze on my little brother, trying to promise him with my eyes that it was going to be alright, before sending a dark look the stranger's way.

Apparently the man saw the threat in my eyes.

"Drop the gun and shut the damn door, or he gets a bullet in his brain."

As the threat was ground out the bastard pressed the barrel of his gun harder into my little brother's head, causing the kid to wince.

My finger twitched on the trigger as my jaw clenched in anger.

"You hurt him, and I'll end you." I seethed.

"But can you end me before I end him? And are you willing to take that chance?"

My finger twitched again, as I assessed the situation.

I didn't have a clear shot, the fucker was using my little brother as a shield, ducked behind him, only part of his face peaking around the side of Sam's head.

I could try for the part of his face I could see, or the shoulder that was visible, but I knew that neither shot was a guarantee, and if it didn't land, my little brother was dead.

"What's it going to be boy?" The clown questioned, the darkness of his voice in complete contradiction to his comical appearance.

I reluctantly removed my finger from the trigger and held the gun off the side, letting it fall to the floor.

"Good choice. Kick it over here."

I kicked the gun, sending it to the far side of the room, away from me, but away from the threat as well.

"Good. Now shut the door."

I may take orders better than Sammy does, but I don't take them from just anybody, actually John Winchester is the only one I have ever taken orders from. Everybody else can go to hell.

Including this fucker.

But when the person spouting commands was holding my little brother's life in his hands…there's not much I wouldn't do.

I reached back and shoved the room door shut, while keeping my eyes on the clown.

"Lock it."

My jaw clenched in anger, but I did as instructed, because what choice did I have?

"Alright good. Now we are all just going to sit tight until the cops leave."

The clown declared, easing the pressure of the gun against Sam's head, but not removing it completely.

"So how about you just take a seat right over there." He said, nodding his head in the direction of the small table and chairs.

I took several steps to the right, and dropped into one of the two chairs without severing my glare from the target of my growing rage.

The man kept a grip around Sam's neck as he pushed my kid brother forward, stopping about ten feet away from where I was seated.

"Do I have to worry about anybody else coming in that door?"

I knew what he was asking, wanted to know if we had parents that were do home anytime soon. I thought momentarily about lying, but didn't see much point in that.

"Besides the cops? No."

He nodded his head, so clearly he had already taken the police account.

"When they come around knocking on the door, you're going to answer it. You're going to tell them everything is fine, assure them you haven't seen who they are looking for."

"And why the hell would I do that?"

"Because boy, if you don't, if you give them any reason for suspicion, you're little brother gets a hole in his head."

I physically restrained myself from shivering at the mental image that assaulted my mind at the threat.

I nodded, showing that I would comply, but not holding back on the death glare I sent to the son-of-a-bitch.

My face softened as I moved my eyes down to look at Sam. The kid looked terrified, his body trembling as he bit down on his bottom lip and his puppy-dog eyes collected moisture.

"It's going to be alright Sammy." I promised him, a reassuring look plastered on my face, even though internally I was screaming in fear.

Sam just nodded his head as best he could with a fucking arm encircling his neck.

"That's right, as long as your brother cooperates, everything will be just fine, Saammy."

I cringed at the way that bastard dragged out my little brother's name.

"It's Sam." I corrected for the kid, watching as a small smirk crossed you boy's face at my words.

"Is that so?"

I tensed as the man pulled my little brother closer to him, placing his head close to Sammy's and looking as though he was fucking sniffing the kid.

Right when I was about to tell the clown to get the hell away from my brother, there was a loud knock at the door.

Sammy jumped up at the sound, sucking in a strangled breath as the arm wrapped around his neck tightened.

The man nodded towards the door as he stepped to the side, ensuring he was out of the line of sight. I scowled as he pressed his weapon harder into my brother's head.

I sent him a warning glare, making it clear with my expression that if he hurt Sammy, it would be the last thing he ever did.

The man nodded impatiently towards the door as another knock was heard accompanied by a hollering voice.

"Police! Open up."

I tore my gaze from my little brother and the clown whose lungs I intended to rip out his throat, and made my way to the door.

I schooled my features, putting on a mask of disinterest as I opened the door.

"Can I help you?" I asked, annoyance lacing my tone.

"Hi, I'm Officer Jackson. Is your parent home?" He questioned.

"No, he's working." I answered simply, because, as my father has taught me, simple lies are always the most believable.

"Oh, when do you expect him home?"

"I don't know, a few hours." I shrugged, exhibiting every amount of nonchalant teenage attitude that I could.

"Alright. Well we are patrolling the area for a suspect, so please stay inside and lock the door." The man instructed.

I nodded in response.

"And if you see anything suspicious, or anyone dressed up as a clown, please call 911."

I raised my eyebrows in fake amusement as I nodded my head once again.

"Have a nice night." The cop told me before heading in the direction of the neighbouring room. I pushed the door closed and locked it, turning back around.

I had been able to hear Sam's whistling breath the entire time I was talking to the officer, who would have also been able to hear had it been his little brother and had he grown up attune to every sound the kid made.

I had a feeling that the clown knew I could hear Sam struggling to take in air, and had used that to further ensure that I would not give him up.

So when I turned to face him, my mask of teenage ease had fallen from my face, to reveal a look of pure hatred, a look I saved for every monster that messed with my baby brother.

What I saw only made my hatred grow.

The clown's arm was so tight around my little brother's neck, that in order to get any oxygen, Sam had to lean his head back against the fat man's chest.

The worst thing was the look on the bastard's face every time Sam needed to straighten out his wind-pipe. This sick fuck loved having my brother press his head against him. He loved that my kid was forced to lean in to him in order to breathe. Not even the clown's painted expression could hide the satisfaction he felt every time Sam had to lean his head back.

I could tell that Sam knew how much his captor enjoyed the contact as well, because he would wait as long as possible, until he could no longer go without oxygen, before reluctantly lifting his chin up and sucking in a whistle of air.

The vague theory I had had moments ago, was now confirmed.

This man.

This clown.

This sick fuck, was a complete pervert, a pedophile.

That's probably why the cops were searching for him.

"I did what you asked. Ease up on my brother." I bit out.

I wanted to tell him to let go of Sammy, step the hell away from the kid, but I knew that that wasn't going to be an option. This asshole still needed an out, and Sam was the only thing protecting him from the police, and from me. And every one of us in the room knew that.

"This bothers you does it? Pisses you off?"

The man mocked as he tightened his arm around Sam's neck.

Sam's eyes went impossibly wide as he sucked in a strangled gasp, the sound alone had me clenching my fist in furry.

"Let him go!" I ordered, doing my best John Winchester impression as I advanced towards the scumbag.

I stopped in my tracks as the clown pressed his gun harder into Sam's temple, so much so that he broke the skin. The sight of blood trickling down the young boy's face as he struggled to breathe sent panic through my veins.

"You want me to stop?"

I nodded shakily, my anger stalled by my desperation to help Sam.

"How about you ask nicely." The man said, an evil smile spreading across his face, nearly matching the one that was painted on in an offensive shade of red.

I grimaced, but as Sam's hands came up and latched onto the arm locked around his neck and began pulling at it feebly, my pride flew out the window.

"Ease up on him, please!" I said, staring into the wide hazel eyes directed my way.

Sam couldn't hold my gaze long though, throwing his head back, extending his windpipe so he could suck in a breath. The horrifying sound that came from Sam as he attempted to breathe, tore at my heart.

"Please! He can't breathe!" I pleaded, ignoring the way my voice cracked and the sick smile on the clown's face.

A second later the man's grip eased and Sam gasped as his lungs filled with air. His eyes flooded with relief as he returned his gaze to mine, breathing heavily, but breathing nonetheless.

"You okay Sammy?" I asked.

Sam nodded, unable to speak as he was still greedily sucking in as much oxygen as he could.

"Sit down." The man ordered me, seemingly not phased at the dark look I sent his way.

I stiffly marched over and dropped into the chair I had been sitting in previously.

"We are all going to sit tight until I'm sure those coppers are gone." He said, dropping the arm that had been suffocating my little brother, and digging into the pocket of his over-sized pants.

With the gun still resting against my baby brother's temple, the clown pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

'Why the fuck did this bastard have handcuffs in his pocket?' I thought, immediately deciding that I didn't want to know the answer, even though I already had a pretty good idea.

"Alright Sammy, I need you to be a good little boy and put these on your brother."

His voice made me shutter as he held the object out towards the young boy.

"No." Sam rasped with an adamant shake of his head.

The man reacted quickly, grabbing a chunk of my little brother's hair and ripping his head back, the gun pressing harder against his temple as the clown kept his eye on me, knowing exactly how much his actions would piss me off.

"Don't fucking touch him!" I hollered out, tempted to leap to my feet, but not missing the hand gun digging into the side of my baby brother's noggin.

The clown smiled, his gaze trained on me as he spoke directly into Sam's ear.

"Listen close Sammy. If you don't put the cuffs on your brother, you're going to end up cleaning his brains off the floor. Do you understand?"

Sam went to nod, but was unable to thanks to the thick fingers clenching his hair and keeping his head stretched back at a visibly painful angle.

"I understand." He answered softly.

"Good boy." The man's compliment placed a sick feeling into my stomach.

Sam took the handcuffs given to him and was pushed forward. The fat clown man kept a firm grip on the collar of my brother's sweater as his other hand moved so the gun was pressing at the back of my kid's head, buried into his shaggy hair.

Sam was forced to walk in front of him as they made their way towards me.

My mind was going crazy trying to think up an escape plan, but every idea that crossed through it placed my kid brother in far too much danger.

"Handcuff him to the chair little Sammy." He ordered in a tone that would make anyone's hair stand on end.

"His name is Sam." I announced clearly, my feelings of contempt made entirely apparent.

I felt cool metal slide around my wrist as Sam's shaky hands locked one cuff in place. Sam kept his gaze from mine, shame radiating from him as I watched a tear trail down his face, the first one since this shit-storm began.

"It's okay Sammy." I reassured him, placing all the love I could into my words, reminding him what his name was supposed to sound like.

Skittish eyes met mine for a second, before drifting back to the task at hand. Sam laced the chain through the arm of the chair and slid the remaining cuff around my other wrist, he left it as loose as possible.

A chubby, sweaty hand came down and encircled Sam's thin one, forcing him to tighten the cuff until it was digging painfully into my skin.

I didn't flinch or display any sign of discomfort. Because fuck this bastard. There's no way in hell I'm going to make my little brother feel like shit for causing me pain.

Once the cuffs were locked into place, Sam looked up at me, apology pouring from those puppy dog eyes, I smiled a little, trying the ease the kid's guilt, guilt he didn't deserve in the least. Before I could tell him it was okay, tell him it wasn't his fault, my little brother was yanked back roughly by his shirt.

"Hey!" I barked at the rough treatment.

"Quiet!" The clown ordered in response, glancing nervously towards the door.

"I'll scream at the top of my fucking lungs if you don't stop hurting him." I promised.

"You do that and I'll blow his brains out." He threatened, jamming the gun harder into my little brother's head.

"You don't think the cops will hear a gun shot?" I said, trying to ignore Sam's pained expression as the weapon once again dug into his skin.

"I know they'll hear it, better yet, they'll hear three."

I squinted my eyes at the man, trying to figure out his angle.

"First Sammy, then you, then me."

"If you want to die than what the hell is all this about?" I asked in frustration, because what the fuck was this douche-bag's angle?

"I don't want to die, but it beats prison. So if I have to choose between death or prison, I'm choosing death and I'm not going down alone."

I cringed at the way the clown dragged the barrel of his gun down my kid brother's face.

And cursed the cuffs around my wrists. The kitchen chair wasn't overly stable, but it was still metal and I saw no hope in being able to break free from it. So any attack plan that I devised would have to incorporate this stupid chair. I wish I had a fucking paper-clip. I wouldn't have to sit here and watch some fucker hurt and threaten my little brother. From this day forward I am carrying a fucking paperclip in my pocket everywhere I go.

"Fine, I'll keep quiet, if you ease off of him." I gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Don't worry boy, I'm not going to hurt little Sammy." The man said, sliding his hand through my little brother's shaggy hair. Sam shied away, trying to duck out from under the clown's touch.

I twisted and pulled at the cuffs.

"Don't you fucking touch him." I seethed, attempting to keep my volume down as I shook with anger.

The clown grinned at me, as though this entire scenario was bringing him some sort of sick delight.

"But he's just so damn soft." The bastard whispered sliding his sausage sized fingers through Sam's hair once again, letting his hand trail down the young boy's neck and down the front of his shirt.

"Get your fucking hand off him." I ordered, the rage rising to an unbearable level as I yanked again on the cuffs, not caring when I felt them tear into my skin.

The clown opened his mouth, probably with the intention of saying something perverse, but was unable to when my little brother grabbed onto the hand holding the gun and twisted it around, causing the older man shout out in shock.

I knew Sam had been waiting to make a move, but the speed of his action took even me by surprise.

Sam held the man's wrist at an unnatural angle and tore the gun from it. The problem was, though Sam was tough and skilled, he was small and wiry and the clown was anything but. The sheer size difference put my brother at a total inconvenience.

I stood up, eager to help, but before I could find a way to make the bloody chair cooperate, I heard a thump as Sammy cried out in pain.

I looked over to see my little brother lying on the floor and I watched as a boot slammed into his abdomen, causing him to gasp and curl around himself.

I dragged the chair as I rushed towards them, but was forced to stop when a gun swung out in my direction.

The clown had apparently had enough time to pick up the weapon before I could get to Sam.

"NO! Dean!" Sam cried out crawling up onto his knees in an attempt to stand.

"Shut up." The man demanded, his foot sliding out swiftly, connecting hard with Sammy's face and sending him sprawling onto his back.

"Sammy!" I yelled, moving to get to him.

"Don't." The order didn't stop me, but the gun appearing directly between my eyes made me pause, but only for a moment, because when I glanced down at my baby brother lying on the floor, watching as he rolled to his side and seeing the blood pouring down from his nose…when I saw that…the gun in front of my face meant nothing to me, but it sure meant a lot to Sam.

The kid moved quickly, sweeping his let out like Dad and I had taught him to, unfortunately Sam had never fought an opponent this big. The leg sweep only managed to knock the clown a little off balance, but this was all the distraction I needed. Before the man even knew what was happening, I was swinging the metal chair at his head.

The chair did the trick, it slammed into the bastard's face and had him tumbling to the ground, right on top of my baby brother.

Sam cried out, his small body disappearing underneath the larger one as it dropped on top of him.

"Sammy." I called moving forward, the metal kitchen chair still in my hands as I kicked the clown, shoving him off my bother with my foot.

Sam crawled out, an arm wrapped around his chest as he clumsily made his way towards me.

"Sammy." I said, reaching for the kid, realizing belatedly that I still had cuffs on, so I just sat there, kneeling uselessly beside my little brother.

"I'll-I'll get the keys." The young boy stuttered quietly, crawling back towards the clown, stalling as he reached out towards him, his hand shaking.

"He's out Sammy, he's not going to hurt you." I assured him with a gentle voice, swearing to myself again that from now on I would never be without a paperclip.

My little brother nodded and slid his hand nervously into the clown's left pocket, sliding out a second later with a small key trapped between two of his thin fingers.

I didn't fail to notice how the entire time Sam refused to look directly at the man.

The man who had held a gun to his head.

The man who had threatened him.

Attacked him.

Hurt him.

Touched him.

The man who had fucking traumatized my baby brother.

The man I was going to kill.

The violent thoughts swirling around in my mind were pushed aside as Sam made his way towards me, his shallow breathing telling me his ribs were probably cracked if not broken.

I held my hands out to the kid, examining him as he looked for the keyhole on the handcuffs. There were bruises around the my brother's neck, there was blood dripping from his temple where the gun had been pressed, and a greater amount of blood pouring from his nose, down over his lips and chin and even onto his sweater.

I dragged my eyes back towards the cuffs, watching as Sam struggled to match up the key with the lock, his hands shook so aggressively that he couldn't seem to manage the simple task.

"Here kiddo, just put the key in my hand, I can get it." I said, holding my palm up.

"It's okay, I got it." Sam whispered, wiping furiously at his watery eyes as he tried again.

I gave it another minute, but I couldn't wait too long, worried the clown might come to, besides, watching Sam struggle is something I have never done very well.

"Sammy." I called softly, waiting for the kid's eyes to meet mine, my heart breaking at the tears streaming down his face.

"I got it." I said, holding my palm out, waiting.

Sam nodded, dropping the key into my hand and then sitting back on his heels, pulling his sweater up over his face and dabbing at his nose.

"Is it broken?" I questioned, trying to keep my voice from wavering as I unlocked the cuffs.

"Don't think so." Sam whispered.

I finally got my hands free, tearing the metal cuffs off my wrists and throwing them across the room. I reached out immediately for my baby brother, taking his face in my hands, pulling his sweater out of the way as I inspected his injuries.

I used my sleeve to dab at the kid's nose as my eyes wandered over his face. I placed gentle fingers under Sam's chin and angled his head up, grimacing at the colourful skin on his neck.

My rage returned with a vengeance, my hands trembling as I slowly pulled them from Sammy's young face. I abruptly stood, picked up the gun, and marched towards the unconscious man.

"No Dean! Don't!" Sam cried out, attempting to climb to his feet, but crying out and falling back onto his knees.

"Sammy." I said, momentarily forgetting the asshole drooling on the floor and making my way back to my little brother.

"Ribs?" I asked, because I had expected as much.

Sam nodded, biting down on his bottom lip.

His face scrunched up in pain.

"Let me see." I requested, waiting for him to peel his hand off his chest as I carefully lifted his sweater.

A deep bruise was already forming. I gently felt along the you boy's ribcage, whispering a quiet apology at the pained whimper that came out of the kid when I pressed against a particular rib that gave way under my touch.

I continued my examination, only one seemed to be broken, but that was one too many.

I glared over my shoulder at the motionless body, that son-of-a-bitch must have kicked Sam hard to cause such damage with just one swing of his boot.

"Please don't kill him Dean." The soft request captured my attention and I turned back to face the frightened child.

"Sam there is no way I'm going to let him walk away. After what he did to us? What he did to you? No, no way." I declared with a definitive shake of my head. This asshole was dead, and he was going to die at my hands, because he touched my baby brother. He hurt my baby brother.

I went to stand again, and make use of the rage flowing through my body.

Thin fingers locked around my arm, pulling down hard.

"No Dean! I can't let you do that. He's a person Dean." Sam said, his voice thick with emotion as desperate hazel eyes stared up at me.

"Sammy—

"No! Please Dean. Please don't." My baby brother's voice wavered and cracked as he pleaded.

And if there was one thing I couldn't resist, it was my little brother begging me to do something…or not do something.

"Please Dee!" The cry was choked out through tears as his fingers clenched tighter around my arm.

"Okay Sammy, Okay. I won't." I soothed, sliding the long brown hair gently off of Sam's forehead; getting a full view of the pain and terror in his eyes and wishing to God that my twelve year old brother didn't have to go through this kind of shit.

"Promise?" He asked, staring up at me, searching my expression.

"I promise." I declared without hesitation, because that is what Sammy needed me to do, so that is what I would do, regardless of how badly I wanted to strangle that bastard.

Sam came first.

"Can you stand?" I asked the young boy kneeling before me.

Sam nodded, maintaining his grip on my arm as I helped him slowly to his feet.

"You okay?" I questioned, waiting for him to steady his wobbling legs.

"Yes." My little brother whispered, easing his grasp of my forearm as he took more of his weight.

"That's my boy." I smiled, squeezing Sam's shoulder supportively.

"Now I want you to pack your things."

"Where we going?"

"Next town over, not far, just far enough to get away from here."

"Why?"

"Because when I call the cops on that bastard they are going to ask us a lot of questions, and I don't want anyone sticking their nose into our business." I explained patiently, skipping over the threat of child services and Sammy being taken if the authorities found out we were on our own. No need to scare the young kid any further.

"Okay." Sam agreed, slowly releasing my arm as he made his way over to his bed and began gathering his things.

I looked down at the clown lying on the floor, hate filling my soul as I stared at his face in disgust. I resisted the urge to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze the life out of him. Instead I stalked over, scooping the handcuffs off the ground and walking back to that son-of-a-bitch.

I kicked him roughly onto his stomach, feeling Sam's eyes on me as I kicked a few extra times.

"Dean—

"Pack your things Sam." I mumbled, grabbing one of the man's arms and dragging him across the floor, stopping at my bed. I tightly clamped one cuff around the chubby wrist, and another to the bed frame.

I left the man lying face down on the ground with his wrist locked to the bed.

Kicking him once more, hard, before walking away. I picked up the handcuff key and tucked it into my pocket, ensuring there was no way this bastard we getting away.

Sam had his things packed and was starting on mine. The advantage of living on the road, there's never a whole lot to pack up, because you don't own much. Most of the time I wish that was different, but today I was pretty okay with it.

I opened the motel door, leaning out and glancing from left to right. No police in sight, the cop-car was gone as well. I sighed in relief.

I grabbed the Impala keys off the small table by the door and shimmied out of my plaid over-shirt.

"Here, take these. I want you to go sit in the car. Lock the doors and press this against your nose while you wait for me." I instructed the young boy.

Sam took the keys and my shirt and then went to grab his bag.

"No I got that. Just go get in the car. I'll be out in a second."

Sam nodded, obeying orders without question, unnervingly uncharacteristic for my little brother.

I watched as Sammy followed instruction, his movements skittish, like a spooked animal.

I kept an eye out until the kid was safely seated in the Impala, not failing to notice how long it had taken him to drop into the front seat, how his face had wrinkled in pain.

Once I finished packing up my stuff I grabbed Sam's as well, heading towards the door, stopping when I heard a loud moan.

I dropped the two duffels and made my way over to the pathetic excuse for a human handcuffed to the bed.

"Rise and shine asshole." I sneered, leaning down, ripping the red clown-wig off the man's head, and grabbing a fistful of his real hair, yanking his skull back so he was looking up at me in a painfully awkward position.

"The only reason you're still breathing air is because my little brother has the biggest fucking heart on the planet."

The man scowled up at me.

"But I'm tell you right now. You ever touch my baby brother again I will slice you into a million tiny fucking pieces. You hear me?!" I ground out in a voice that sounded so dark, it was unfamiliar even to me.

I didn't give the useless piece of shit time to reply, using my grip in his hair to slam his face against the floor, not hard enough to kill, just break a nose, like he almost did to my kid.

I wanted to go further, I physically vibrated with the need to do so much more damage. To make this sick fuck hurt and scream, to put the same terror in him that I saw in my baby brother's eyes.

But I promised Sammy.

So I fought every bone in my body and forced myself to walk back to where I had dropped the bags.

I used the old motel room phone and called 911, leaving an anonymous tip for the cops about a pedophilic clown handcuffed to a bed in room fourteen at the Motel6.

I slammed the phone down and made my way out of the room, shutting the door, letting my anger fall as I made my way to the Impala.

Sam didn't need my anger or my rage.

Sam needed my support, my protection, and my love. So that was exactly what the kid was going to get.

I threw our bags in the trunk, making a mental note to call Dad and inform him of our change in location as dropped into the driver seat. The keys were already in the ignition and I started up the car. As I drove from the parking lot I looked over at my little brother, relieved to see his nose was no longer gushing blood, but noticing that my over-shirt was covered in the red liquid.

Sam was fiddling nervously with his fingers, staring over at me.

"You going to ask?" I questioned, thinking that I knew exactly what was on the kid's mind, knowing that if I were him I would ask me if I'd done it, if I'd killed him.

Sam tilted his head for a moment, something he often did when in thought, and then gave it a shake.

"No. You promised you wouldn't. So I know that you didn't." The kid stated with all the confidence in the world.

I shook my head.

My little brother had so much faith in me, trusted me so completely, and what the hell did I do to deserve it?

I let him get threatened, hurt, and traumatized.

"We'll stop soon and get you patched up." I told Sam, nodding towards his ribs, knowing how much pain he was probably in.

Sam nodded, biting nervously down on his lip and then slowly sliding over towards me.

The kid sat near the middle of the front seat, twitching about and inching a little closer ever couple seconds.

I snorted fondly and reached out, wrapping my arm around Sam's skinny shoulders and pulling him into me, careful of his injuries.

Sam's body instantly relaxed against mine as he released a soft sight, his shaggy head resting on me as he fit into place against my side.

He kept a hand wrapped protectively around his rib cage, but his other one reached out and latched onto my amulet.

A smile invaded my expression, because god did I love this kid. I loved him so fucking much.

"I'm sorry." I whispered after a few moments, not even sure if my brother was still awake, as his eyes were closed and breathing steady.

"Not your fault." Sam stated strongly, cracking his eyelids open to look up at me. I glanced down, instantly overwhelmed by the adoring look in the hazel eyes staring in my direction.

I tore my gaze away before the emotion became too much, and concentrated on the road.

"Thanks for saving me." Sammy muttered, nuzzling against me.

I snorted, shaking my head ruefully.

"I didn't save you Sammy." I responded, the self-loathing evident in my voice.

"Yes you did. You always save me Dee."

The soft statement made my heart ache with more love than I could handle.

This kid.

This fucking kid.

Tucked under my arm, resting against my side, fingers grasping the amulet, and thanking me for saving him.

Not angry that I let him get hurt in the first place.

Not upset that I literally sat there and watched someone put their hands on him.

Not blaming me for the shit he just went through.

Instead, he fucking thanks me.

God this kid.

I kept one hand resting on the steering wheel, as my other one pulled Sammy impossibly closer.

"I've got you Sammy." I promised, hearing the kid sigh and smiling just a little, because I knew he felt safe.

The fingers surrounding the amulet hanging from my neck loosened, as Sam started to fall asleep, the evening's events clearly taken a toll on him both emotionally and physically.

As I drove down the open country road, away from the town, with my baby brother tucked into my side, I began to make vows.

I vowed that I would keep a paperclip on my person at all times.

I vowed that I would do a better job protecting my little brother.

I vowed that I would never let some scumbag lay a hand on him again.

Above all, I vowed that I would never disappoint my little brother; that I would not let the faith and trust he put in me go to waste.

I vowed that I would never let my kid down again.

Not ever.

I physically nodded my head in agreement with my newly made promises.

And then I heard a soft murmur come from Sam.

"Why'd it have to be a clown?"

I released a surprised bark of laughter, glancing down to see a smile and two small dimples appear on the young boy's face.

"I don't know little brother, but that's one fear I'll never again make fun of you for having." I stated.

"Liar." Sam responded with a grin.

"Bitch." I snickered.

"Jerk." My brother replied through a yawn.

I couldn't help but grin, because Sammy would be okay.

Sure he was banged up and bleeding; and I had no doubt there would be a number of sleepless nights ahead, not to mention the kid would probably never go near a clown again…but he would be okay.

Because Sammy is strong.

He's stronger than anybody else I know.

Nothing will change that.

Nothing can break my kid.

And anything or anybody that wants to try, is going to have to go through me.

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><p>Note: Thanks for reading! PLEASE commentreview if you have a moment. I'd love to hear what you think. Thanks again! - Sam


	2. Chapter 2

Note: So this happened...I'm not entirely sure why or how. **Marianne Lidell** got me thinking and this is the result of said thoughts :) Thank you so much everyone for reviewing/commenting! I can't properly express how much that means to me...because it's 2am...and I can't properly express anything at this point. Enjoy :)

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><p>I kept one eye on the cleavage of the busty blonde in front of me, and the other on my dorky little brother hunched over at a table on the other side of the room.<p>

My ability to multitask has always amazed me. I can easily flirt with a hot chic and supervise my kid brother all at the same time.

Something else that has always amazed me? My little brother's complete lack of interest in anything fun.

The kid is only 17, he should be thrilled to use a fake ID and sneak into a bar, he should be even more thrilled at the number of attractive prospects hanging around this particular bar. But does the boy show any interest whatsoever? Of course not. Instead he sits tucked away in the corner of the room hunched over a text book, nursing a single light beer.

Light Beer... one light beer...

I really didn't get this kid.

To Sam's credit, this particular activity wasn't his idea.

I had decided that my little brother really needed to get out and have some fun. All the teen did anymore was hunt, got to school, and argue with Dad. The constant stress and fighting was wearing on my kid; I could tell by the way his shoulders hunched, his sullen attitude, and his complete lack of excitement for anything...even school. So when Dad returned from a hunt all keyed-up and pissy, I knew that the best way to avoid another battle of wills between the two members of my family, was to separate them.

Shockingly it hadn't been terribly difficult to talk Sam into coming out with me tonight. I felt that the teenager was as eager to avoid a confrontation with our father as I was to stop it from happening.

I knew when Sam sat next to me in the Impala with his fake ID in one hand and textbook in the other, that the teen was going to be a buzz kill, but I decided not to harass him about it; it was enough that John seemed to be constantly on my brother's case as of late. The tension between the two was exhausting, so even if Sam wanted to come out to the bar and geek out, that was fine with me.

Although, I should really teach that nerd how to have fun every now and then, but I guess that will be a lesson for another time.

I glanced back over at Sam, snickering as I watched him blush uncomfortably at a girl who looked to be about my age trying to flirt with him.

My god this kid was hopeless, but he seemed at ease and relatively content, so I'd take it.

I went to focus at least part of my attention on the female in front of me, but the newest entrance to the bar caught my eye.

It was a clown, or at least a partial clown.

It was large man who looked to be in his 50's. He was wearing an obnoxiously colourful shirt that was sloppily tucked in to average looking brown pants, his shoes were also normal. It looked as though the man had had been wearing a wig at one point, because the white facial colouring stopped about half way up his forehead, revealing a bald scalp. His face was painted, and although you could tell it was fading and he had wiped at it, the paint was still prominent enough to clearly display the clown-like features.

The moment I saw the stranger enter I automatically turned back toward my little brother. It was naive of me to believe for one second that the kid hadn't notice. Sam was a hunter, perhaps a reluctant one at most times, but still as vigilant as my father and I. There was no doubt that my brother had seen that man enter the same time I had.

I could clearly make out the tension in Sam's body, his shoulders going rigid as the colour left his face.

I waited, knowing that it was only a matter of seconds before Sam's eyes searched out mine. As I predicted wide hazel orbs flew my way.

I let a smirk cross my face and returned my brother's gaze steadily, because the kid needed calm reassurance, and I excelled at that.

The fear faded from Sam's eyes and tiny twitch of a smile displayed a single dimple as he ruefully shook his head and returned his attention to his homework, but I knew that, like me, he would keep a wary eye out for the clown.

Because some fears just never go away, they might become less intense, they might even fade with time; but some fears never disappear completely... regardless of how badly you wish they would.

I swept my eyes over my little brother, grimacing at the sight of his casted limb resting on the table. The kid got chucked pretty hard on the last hunt, had snapped his arm. The teenager wasn't cradling it against his chest the way he did when it was really hurting him, so I assumed he was alright.

I tore my eyes away from the kid, because I'm in a bar full of attractive women and it would be shameful if I spent the entire time staring at my baby brother.

Though my gaze was now settled on a very hot body, Sam remained on my radar, as he always had, since the day he was born.

The clown also remained on my radar and I noticed when he wondered slowly over to the bar, when he ordered and paid for his liquor, and when he sauntered to the back corner of the room to take a seat.

Normally none of this behaviour would bother me, we were at a bar, and any middle-aged man who had a job as a clown would no doubt need to spend his night drowning in alcohol.

No, the problem wasn't his behaviour, it was the fact that he chose to sit at the table next to the one my little brother was at, their chairs practically touching.

Sam straightened right out from his hunched position, his body language screaming anxiety. He glanced at the clown from the corner or his eye, and then instantly his nervous stare landed on me.

I shrugged and nodded my head pointedly in the direction of an open table closer to the center of the room.

Sam looked as though he sighed, which made me smirk, because I knew that the kid hadn't selected the corner of the bar by mistake. The dork was searching for some sort of peace and quiet so he could study.

Although apparently the risk of disturbance was worth putting distance between him and the clown.

Sam closed his book and began gathering his papers the best he could with one hand, tucking his casted arm against him, the teen shoved his chair back as he came to a stand. I was about to return my attention to the woman who was talking about her dog...or something, but before I could, the clown made a move.

I watched his mouth move and saw him staring at Sammy, but I couldn't make out what was being said. My little brother angled to look at him and then shook his head dismissively, turning to make his way to the empty table across the room. I thought we were in the clear, until Sam went crashing to the ground.

The kid went down hard, practically face-planted on the wooden floor, his book and papers flying as he connected with the hard-wood.

I instantly headed towards him, disregarding the girl still going on about her pug…whatever the hell that is. I knew something was going on, Sam may have recently experienced a frankly absurd growth-spurt and he hadn't exactly grown accustomed to his lengthy limbs just yet, but the boy wasn't a total klutz. There's no way he just tripped on thin air, no I'm betting something tripped him, or someone.

Someone who clearly didn't know rule #1

Don't mess with Sammy.

I made it across the room in time to help Sam climb to his feet, something made much more difficult when only one arm operates correctly. I didn't miss the sneer that crossed the clown's face as I collected my brother's books while he absently rubbed at his cast.

"You alright?" I asked, handing Sam his things.

"Fine." The lanky teenager responded curtly his cheeks red with embarrassment as he stared at the ground, making a point to avoid all the curious looks directed his way.

I ignored the nosy people of the bar and turned to direct my attention at the real issue.

"What the fuck is your problem?" I barked at the man staring up at me in amusement.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He shrugged, feigning innocence.

I wasn't impressed.

"Sorry, did I not make myself clear? Perhaps I should speak in a language you understand." I ground out, crowding the douchebag's space, placing my hands down on top of the table and leaning in to his face.

"I was just trying to teach the boy some manners. I sit down, he gives me a look and then gets up to leave. I asked the brat what his issue was, he didn't bother to answer. So I figured maybe a little trip would help knock some manners into him." The man explained, his tone conceded and casual, as though he were discussing the weather.

"Listen here asshole-

"Dean, don't bother man, come on." Sam interrupted, tugging on the elbow of my jacket sleeve.

The clown smirked, as though he was aware of the fact I was unable to ignore my little brother.

Reluctantly, I straightened up and pulled my hands off the tabletop, but before I got the chance to obey the teen's request and walk away, the clown got to his feet.

He was overweight and taller than me, taller than my sasquatch of a brother as well, and though he was half-dressed as a clown, he exhibited a confident aggression.

"That's right, listen to your boyfriend." He snarled.

I'd had enough.

I intended to show this moron exactly who he was messing with; but before I could rip into the bastard Sam was pulling me back and stepping directly in between us, his back to the clown as he placed his hands on my chest, homework tucked under his armpit. His long fingers tapping as he looked at me steadily.

"He's not worth it Dean. Let's just go."

I stared at Sam, annoyed that I had to angle my face up in order to properly see his.

My fists were clenched in anger while I was forced to resist the urge to teach that son-of-a-bitch a lesson. I shook my head at the teenager in front of me, indicating that I had no intention of walking away.

The hands on my chest pressed against me a little harder.

"Dean, please."

Sam's steady expression cracked as the plea came through, concern evident on his young face.

Well fuck.

This kid knew I couldn't dismiss his pleas.

Sam was a Winchester through and through, no matter how much he didn't want to be, and like all of us, he didn't beg or plead often. So when I heard the soft pleading tone in his voice, there was no way I could shrug it off...and the little shit knew it.

I nodded, not trusting myself enough to open my mouth, knowing that if I did I would start a fight.

Sam nodded back in reply, relief written across his features as be released a breath I hadn't noticed he'd been holding

I was about to turn around, Sam letting his hands fall from my chest as we went to leave.

"At least your boyfriend knows when you're in over your head."

I stilled, body tensing, but the long fingers gripping my elbow, pulling at me to turn and leave, forced me to relax, until...

"You always listen so obediently to the little bitch? Is the kid even legal yet?" As the clown sneered the comment, his hand swept across the back of Sam's neck and gripped onto his shoulder, squeezing hard.

My little brother flinched, his eyes growing wide as they stared into mine...the exact same way they did all those years ago.

The last time some fucking clown put his hands on my little brother.

I grabbed hold of my brother's jacket and firmly tugged him away from the man, pushing him behind me.

I vaguely heard Sam say my name, but the call was drowned out by the sound of my fist connecting with the painted face sneering down at me.

The larger man was surprised, but he didn't go down.

He was a big guy, but I was a trained hunter, and even better…I was pissed.

I blocked the fist coming at my face and got another jab in, and then another one after that.

Soon the clown toppled over the table and hit the floor.

I followed and continued to lay into him, hardly noticing all the shouting going on in the bar.

Anger and rage coursed through my veins as I beat on the bigger man.

The man who had touched my little brother.

I didn't stop until a long skinny arm encircled my chest and pulled me backwards off the clown.

I swung around to deliver some choice words to the individual that dragged me away from the object of my hate, but stopped short seeing my little brother's face.

"That's enough Dean. Let's go." The teen said forcefully, his hand wrapping around my elbow as he held his schoolwork to his chest with his casted arm.

I made to argue.

To tell Sam that was definitely not enough, the bastard was barely bleeding, but then I saw the lines of pain in my little brother's face and noticed the tense anxiety in his posture.

Not to mention that a sweep of the bar told me all eyes were on us and there were a few individuals looking eager to intervene as the bartender held a shotgun casually in his hands, keeping an eye on the scene.

I glanced down at the clown.

His nose was bleeding, as was the corner of his mouth, but not much.

Although, his eyes were already swelling and even past the smeared make-up it was clear the man's face would be black and blue by tomorrow.

"Alright, just give me a sec." I told Sam.

The kid sighed, reluctantly releasing my elbow and taking a small step back.

I crouched over the panting, moaning piece of shit, grabbing the front of his disgustingly colourful shirt and tugging him towards me.

"You're lucky that my kid brother gives a shit, but if you do so much as breathe near him again, it won't matter what Sammy says, I'll tear your apart." I vowed, my face mere inches from the clown.

"Got it?" I seethed, waiting for a sign of comprehension.

The man's eyes met mine, he took a moment, but finally nodded discretely.

I instantly released my grip and straightened up.

"Alright, I'm done. We can go." I stated casually, allowing Sam to direct me to the door and push me towards it.

"Didn't know you were so possessive of your little boy-toy." The clown smirked up from the ground, the blood, swelling, and make-up doing nothing to hinder the dark smile.

I turned around, the rage I thought had drained making a violent return.

But Sam wasn't having it.

My brother planted his feet and shoved me out the door I had just opened.

"You Fucker!" I hollered, trying to get past my brother.

Sam may be wiry, but he's tall and well-trained, and on the rare occasion that he wants to, he can put up quite the fight.

"Dean! That's enough." The kid barked, in a commanding tone that sounded an awful lot like the one I used.

"No Sam. It's not! Step aside." I ground out, eager to get back inside and teach that pervert a lesson.

"No, just calm down man." The teenager said, his good hand pressed against the center of my chest.

"Why should I?" I yelled, my anger at the situation coming out clear in my voice.

"Because you're being ridiculous." Sam declared, in that know-it-all teenage tone I despised.

"Ridiculous? Sammy I'm trying to protect you!" I shouted, because why the hell was this kid not getting it?

"You don't think I could handle it?" My little brother asked, genuine offense crossing his expression.

"You know that's now what I meant." I ground out, my annoyance with this kid growing by the second.

"Really? Because the way that I see it, you don't think I could take on a simple middle-aged man. Come on Dean, we've trained together, hunted together, and you still don't think I'm capable of handling myself?" Sam accused, waving his good arm about in frustration.

"Dude I know that you can handle yourself. Hell I've seen you take down monsters twice his size." I assured, because that was the truth.

"Then why did you go all bodyguard in there?" The teenager questioned, gesturing back to the bar.

"Because I knew that your diplomatic ass wouldn't give that son-of-a-bitch what he deserved." I said, my fists clenching as a fresh wave of contempt washed over me.

"That's because he wasn't worth it."

"He put his hands on you Sam!" I spat out.

"Yeah Dean, I know." My brother sighed, swiping a hand through his hair.

"And you can't tell me that you were okay with that, I saw your face." I added in a softer tone, making sure that I didn't sound like I was blaming the kid.

"Yeah well…I wasn't really…I was thinking about something else…" Sam stuttered in explanation, voice fading away as his gaze dropped to the ground.

"I know man…me too. That's why I couldn't let him get away with it, you know?"

Sam's bright hazel eyes came back up to meet mine.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I let some sick-fuck put his hands on you once—

"Dean you didn't **let** him do anything—

"I sat there Sam! I sat there and watched as he threatened, touched, and scared you. And I promised myself that I would never let that happen again. Ever." I confessed, voice breaking as I felt moisture gather in my eyes.

Sam was quiet for a moment, staring at me from underneath those stupid bangs, his puppy-dogs eyes on full force, filled with adoration and appreciation that I did nothing to deserve.

"How's your arm?" I asked, desperate to distract myself and hold back the tears that were threatening to fall.

The teenager blinked, as though he just remembered the injury.

He allowed me to grab hold of his homework and tuck it underneath my arm. I didn't miss the pain lines that creased his face as I brought the appendage out towards me.

I cradled the thin arm in my grasp, taking a look at the long bony fingers, being sure they were in no way discoloured or swollen, which would indicate further damage had been done to the broken limb.

Sam's fingers were good, I turned his arm over and grimaced at the cracked plaster.

My body tensed, touch still gentle as I examined the busted cast, but furry flowing through my veins. I knew from experience how much it hurt when a barely-healing limb was smashed around, and Sam must have hit the ground a hell of a lot harder than I thought he did if he managed to crack his cast.

"It's fine Dean." Sam soothed, sensing my anger.

I shook my head in complete disagreement, but let the violent feelings fade as I stared up at my brother.

"Looks like we'll be hanging out in the E.R. for the rest of the evening kiddo." I said, gently releasing his arm.

Sam nodded, knowing what a split cast meant as he tucked the appendage against his chest in visible discomfort.

"And we'll be sure to grab some of the good meds for you while we're there." I stated, ushering the teenager in the direction of the Impala.

"Don't need them Dean, some Advil would work fine."

I shook my head in exasperation.

Sam and his messed up priorities.

How did this kid not understand that he came before money?

That him being pain-free was more important than our financial stability?

"Shut up Sam." I muttered, opening the passenger door and encouraging my brother to sit down with a hand on his shoulder.

Sam huffed, rolling his eyes, displaying that wonderful teenage attitude as he dropped into the car.

I walked around to the driver's side, thankful I didn't have time to drink enough to impede on my driving ability, because there was no way I would let Sam behind the wheel with only one good arm.

I climbed in, tossing my nerdy brother's schoolwork in the backseat.

I placed the keys in the ignition, and paused, staring out the windshield in thought.

Feeling the kid's gaze on me, I searched for the words I wanted to say.

"Look…I know that you can take care of yourself. I don't want you thinking that I don't believe you're capable, because you are. Hell last time something like this happened, even though you were just a kid, you took that douche-bag on and saved yourself. I know that you can fight you're own battles Sammy, but you're my little brother, so don't expect me to ever stop protecting you…no matter how much of a sasquatch you are." I finished, staring intently at the kid's hazel eyes, imploring him to believe me.

I didn't want Sam feeling incompetent, I know that's how he felt around Dad and I knew how it hurt him, and I could never add to that pain.

But I also did not want my brother believing just because I know he can handle himself, that I would step back and stop protecting him the best I could.

I had failed too many times and not looking out for Sammy just wasn't an option.

It went against everything I believed in.

Every instinct I had.

Everything that I was.

"Thanks for that Dean." Sam said earnestly, a small smile brightening his face.

I nodded my head, satisfied that the kid understood me.

"Last time…when that guy…when he had us trapped in that motel room. I didn't save myself Dean, I may have made the first move, but you saved me. You always do." My little brother stated confidently.

I squinted out the windshield at the road ahead, unsure of what to say.

Sam was wrong of course.

I hadn't saved him.

I'd just sat there and watched someone hurt him.

I dropped my left hand from the steering-wheel, sliding it into the pocket of my jeans and toying with the paperclip resting there.

Remembering all the vows I had made to myself five years ago.

"Dad's going to be pissed." My little brother muttered as I drove my baby in the direction of the medical center.

"Don't worry about Dad." I said, a promise in my voice.

If John had a problem, he could take it up with me.

Sam had dealt with enough shit tonight.

We drove in silence a few minutes longer, but something nagged at my mind, and I had to get it out…though I felt I had been sharing and caring a little too much this evening.

"He loves you, Dad, he really does you know...he just…doesn't always know how to show it." I declared in a muddled manner.

Sam's eyes stayed on me for a while, before he turned his gaze out the window.

"Yeah…I know." He sighed tiredly, cradling his arm closer to his chest.

"Does it hurt bad?" I asked, nodding to the casted limb.

"Nah, just an ache really."

I shook my head, because why did I ever bother to ask. Sam was always underplaying his injuries.

And then I rolled my eyes, because who did the kid learn that from.

The Impala's rumble filled the silence as we approached the hospital.

"Why does it always have to be clowns?" My little brother whined petulantly.

I laughed, because damn this kid.

This kid with an entirely childish, yet completely justified fear.

With all his hair and his stupidly long limbs.

With that teenage angst and attitude.

Always studying or arguing.

Always thinking too much.

Stressing over everything and priorities all out of whack.

Strong and smart, with a heart three times the size of everyone else's.

This kid who never seemed to change.

The kid I loved more than anything on this godforsaken planet.

My kid.

My life.

Sammy.

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><p>Note: Please commentreview. I'd love to know what you think. Thanks for reading! - Sam


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